


'Cause You Look So Fine

by HandsAcrossTheSea, trashhearts67



Series: alpha4alpha [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blue Collar Kink, Bottom Dean Winchester, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Knotting, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Titty Fucking, Top Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 10:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18776278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/pseuds/trashhearts67
Summary: There's only one way that they know how to come together - completely, messily, and only ever for each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic HAD been intended as a sort of compilation of scenarios that didn't really fit together anywhere else in the context of this verse, so just COMPLETELY ignore the absence of plot. Guess that could be said of most of the work of this authorship, couldn't it? Trash is our game, after all, and we're very good at playing it, so we've stepped it up even further. Nothing but garbage, ever. All the time. 
> 
> <3

Faking being a handyman is one thing, sure. 

Actually getting his hands dirty to repair the bunker’s monstrous, ancient furnace - that’s a little beyond Sam. Most things he’s a pretty quick study on, no problem. Deciphering the equally antiquated manual did little more than give him a headache that still hasn’t abated, not to mention very vague instructions on how to actually fix the fucking thing.

Thank God it’s high summer and not the dead of winter, or they would be in much worse shape. So far the only consequence has been no hot water for the shower and Dean bitching  _ endlessly  _ about it. So, things that Sam can comfortably live without - for the time being. It’s not like at this time of year they’re taking scalding hot showers to start with. Summertime time is always hell on alphas, first and foremostly because it’s so goddamn hot. For most, it renders them useless, good for precious little save for lying in the shade and fucking all of that lethargic energy out at night.

No wonder most pups born are summer babies.

He and Dean have certainly got the fucking part covered. They’ve barely left the bunker in three weeks, just long enough to get more food and beer. The whole place stinks of alpha musk, like they’ve been competing to to see who can make very room reek more. Every space has been load tagged multiple times, either by way of them fucking each other stupid in it or dumping a load in the corner so that the other comes faster to add more. It’s base, filthy even, the way that they’ve marked their territory - but it’s not so different from how they mark each other, is it?

Well - almost every room. Everywhere except the furnace, and thus far there is  _ zero  _ reason to even bother considering ruining each other down here. Sam should probably be grateful for that, or he’d be leaning up against the boiler with his dick hanging out the fly of his coveralls, and solving none of their current issues. Which is mostly Sam’s problem, because he had been the one taking a shower at the time it had stopped working, and Dean had declared it to be his project to tackle. It’s not entirely fair, but in a moment of blockheaded “you broke it and I’m telling” immaturity, Dean had foisted the responsibility onto Sam’s shoulders.

More likely, Dean doesn’t want to crawl around in the dark and get dirty.

Mr. “Taking Your Huge Cock Is Enough Work On Its Own.”

Yeah, Dean only because you ask for it so much.

Admittedly, it’s not exactly like Sam is difficult to lure in like that, but he still doesn’t believe that Dean’s excuse holds all that much water. Dean has done plenty of work after getting fucked hard, and it’s not like the furnace is possessed or anything.

He finds himself wishing that he hadn’t thought of that, because now he’s concerned that it might indeed be sentient and he’s about to be incinerated. The place stands every reason to have its own long-dormant, vengeful spirits. The joys of home ownership are decidedly not all they’re cracked up to be, and Sam is seriously considering calling a guy - except the bunker technically doesn’t exist, and they would have to probably sterilize it from top to bottom before anyone else crossed the threshold. 

The smell alone would knock any other mortal down, and it’s probably a pretty fucking huge red flag that they didn’t really mind living amongst a pervading backdrop of drying come and slick on most every reasonably steady surface.

Alright, just thinking about it has the blood rapidly traveling south, and Sam wishes that he wasn’t covered in dust and soot and God knows what else, wishing even more he was in a position to do something about it. Or that Dean was down here and not upstairs, napping, not when Sam is bound up in coveralls that offer nothing in the way of quick, easy access or convenience.

Sam takes his frustration out on the next turn of his wrench, grunting when finally, he feels a little bit more give than before, hears a rush of something, a near electric burble signaling that the furnace is coming back to life. Sam chuckles to himself,  _ take that Dean, I can do it all on my own.  _ There is every chance that the thing might shut back down  but for the moment, he’s going to be proud of his handiwork and rub it in Dean’s face with  _ relish. _

Contrary to Dean’s belief, he was in fact paying attention all of those times when he showed him how to fix something. Why wouldn’t he? He had Dean’s full attention then, just them and the car, or one of Bobby’s projects. Sam always treasured those moments.

A tug of nostalgia for a more innocent, uncomplicated time pulls at his head, even though, at the end of the day, they’re both still here, the place smells and feels like  _ them.  _ No one else. Yeah, they’ve cheated death about a million times now to get here, but Sam will never not be convinced that it wasn’t worth it.

Even if Dean did choose to be completely unhelpful.

Sam will get after him about it later - right now he just wants to get off the grime that’s accumulated on his exposed skin and work on doing as little as possible for the rest of the day. Not a bad plan - provided the furnace continues to function.

Climbing the stairs with the toolbox in one hand, he unzips his coveralls and sighs with relief, his body covered in musky sweat. He already knows he’s ripe - two days of no showering had already seen to that. Crawling around deep in the bowels of the bunker had only made the problem more pronounced, but… he wants to cool off first. No sense in going from being hot to standing under a hot shower just yet.

Up here, it’s still muggy  - but the air is almost shockingly cold. Sam drops the toolbox on the library floor, letting his hair down out of the bun that he had it in. It kept getting in his face, but there’s no need to torture himself any longer. He stops by the kitchen, snagging a beer and a bottle of water. He’s still too hot to eat, so liquids it is for now.

He carries them over to the long table, sprawling in the chair at the end of it. He finishes unzipping his coveralls all the way down, groaning with relief as even more of him cools down. Sam supposes that he should try to look for a hunt while he’s relaxing, but the thoughts of Dean naked and slick-high puts an end to that line of thought. He doesn’t want to be on the road right now, perfectly content to stay right here and fantasize about his brother’s wet ass. 

When he’s awake, of course.

Their translation of “the book” - as they have started to finally, officially call it, because fuck using the whole title - rests on the table in front of him along with the rest of their notes. It’s been a multi-year project , the translation guide that Dean made a couple of years ago getting increasingly battered and worn, much like the tome itself. Sam has added to it, over time - and they are still only a third of the way through the difficult, inelegantly rendered vernacular of the text. The overwhelming problem is that parts of it aren’t even in Old English (curse them both for thinking it would all be in  _ one  _ tough dead language) but a mix of Aramaic (which had surprised Sam to no end, considering its rough origin) and what they’ve both managed to determine is some hyper-local dialect of Celtic. So yeah, huge, tedious headache of a translation project - but it has been more than occasionally interesting and enlightening. 

The section that they’ve most recently started work on is the medieval equivalent of a Penthouse fantasy letter - the knight, as reliably inconsistent of a narrator as they are, details what Sam believes to either be a soldier’s barracks or a castle - either way, there is a great deal of writing devoted to a large group of eager, sexually easy young men, mostly knights or other armed forces - the translation isn’t entirely clear. Alphas, from the way they’re further described, and there is a lot of joyfully explicit adventures - their carousing, their “heavenly scent of youth and virility” - so  castle full of active and sexually attractive men, doing God knows what.

They haven’t pieced together if this actually happened, or if the narrator got carried away jerking off one night - but the text resonates with them both in a deeper way than he had previously thought was possible.

Their own hole in the ground smells an awful lot like that castle right now, and Sam is all the more happy for it. He leans back further, taking a long pull of his beer as he slips his hand into his underwear and pulls his nuts away from his leg, sticky from the sweat - and he’s in no hurry to let go of them. In spite of Dean’s constant, thorough efforts to drain them completely, they still feel particularly heavy and full to him. He takes his thumb and presses between his testicles, entirely too aware of how easily they separate, the heat keeping his sac loose. Sam chews his lip, exploring himself further.

He and Dean haven’t fucked yet today - which makes it about fourteen hours since he was last inside his brother, more than enough time for his nuts to be swollen back to full capacity. 

“If you want a hand with that, I’m awake now.” Dean walks in with a cup of steaming coffee, splashed with a little bit of the hazelnut creamer Sam buys and Dean pretends not to like. He isn’t dressed, wearing nothing but his robe. He stops a few feet away from Sam, robe untied, his dick soft and heavy between his legs. Sam fixates on that, aware of how girthy and plump he is when he isn’t hard. Sam trades the beer for water, sipping, his hand still down the front of his underwear.

“I wasn’t uh, you know.” Sam isn’t sure why he feels like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, but Dean is kind of looking at him like he was - as if Dean has never just sat and appreciated the weight of his own junk in his hands. 

Granted, most of the time it’s Dean’s hand that are doing the appreciating, but Sam is allowed to do it himself, dammit. Dean can go on with that judgmental look.

Dean sips more of his coffee, eying Sam like he’s prey of some sort. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, so he lets his gaze wonder back down to Dean’s crotch, obsessing to himself over the fat vein that curved around the left side and under his shaft.

“Wanna take a picture, maybe a video?” Dean gives himself a squeeze and it just makes Sam want  _ harder.  _ It’s like he’s suddenly forgotten how Dean tastes, and he’s dying for another hit. His mouth waters, the musk of his brother deep and infuriatingly attractive - not quite the sweetness of an omega, but just similar enough.

Sam shakes his head, moving from cupping his balls to pulling his dick out over the elastic of his waistband - and ends up with Dean’s full attention on him. “Nah, Dean, prefer the live version.” He strokes up, long and slow, watching Dean’s eyes follow the motion of his hand. He wants Dean, sure - but he needs Dean to want  _ him  _ just a little bit more.

Dean doesn’t offer anything other than another sweeping gaze of Sam’s body, reveling in the attention that he’s getting - the attention that Dean is trying very hard to pretend isn’t nearly so intense. Sam gets that he’s musky and sweaty, yeah - but that’s nothing unusual. Dean gets wet for it, but…

“Wish I had somethin’ to pay you with.” Dean’s eyes focus on the coveralls, and… oh. OH.  “Guess you helped yourself.”

Sam shrugs, standing up, not bothering to tuck himself away. He can work with this, glad to play along with Dean’s little fantasy. “Not like it was hard to find the problem - and if I had known who I was fixin’ it for…” Sam strokes his cock, feeling a blurt of precome leak out over his fingers. Dean’s body starts to respond, without his explicit acknowledgement. His cock hardens, foreskin retracting back and a second later, the heavy, sweet scent of alpha slick carries on the air. Sam smells it a second before the first drop leaks down the inside of Dean’s thighs.

“Makes you think you’re leaving without me giving you at least a little something?” Dean is in it now, taking a step closer to Sam. Just that slight change in proximity has Sam’s heart racing a hundred miles a minute, eager to put himself further into Dean’s space. He’s so close that Sam is sweating from his body heat, nothing but the will to make the first move between them. He can see the moisture glistening  on Dean’s neck, an open invitation that he doesn’t want to bypass - but he’s still thinking about Dean’s cock. The weight of it on his tongue, the always salty burst of precome as it hits the back of Sam’s throat. He knows what Dean is expecting - but not this time.

“Depends on how much you’re offering.” Sam reaches out, gets his fingers around Dean’s shaft. HIs brother is so gloriously thick, his knot swelling a touch when Sam’s thumb rubs over the base of his shaft. Pointing Dean’s cock up towards his belly, Sam closes the gap between them and claims Dean’s mouth, a mix of hazelnut and long-since eaten breakfast., masked under the slight sourness of Dean’s lengthy nap.

Dean is always the best thing he’s ever tasted, no matter what.

He’s a drug that Sam will never be able to quit and his need just grows stronger every day. Dean opens up for him without hesitation, hands on Sam’s hips, stance widening to let Sam know that his access is unrestricted. Dean sucks on his tongue, letting himself be turned with a not quite gentle motion until he’s leaning against the table.

“Don’t move,” Sam growls - and he drops to his knees, nose buried in Dean’s reddish blonde pubes. His balls are just as loose from the heat as Sam’s are, full and needy for emptying. He goes low, sucking each one into his mouth, both of them too fucking big to fit in his mouth at the same time. He lavishes each one with attention, pulling moan after moan out of Dean as he passes them in and out of his mouth. He’s doing so good, listening to Sam perfectly, holding still so that Sam can get what he needs.

His cock leaks all over Sam’s face, thick, clear strings of precome that drip down to Sam’s nose and lips. He isn’t ready to be there yet, wants to make Dean beg for it just a while longer. He’s covered in Dean’s musk already, nearly indistinguishable from his own unwashed scent. 

Sam should be worried that he likes it  _ that  _ much.

Every fucking second of covering himself in Dean is fucking worth it, not afraid to let the world know to whom he belongs.

“Fucking hell, baby boy, stop fuckin’ around.” Dean’s got a growl in his voice, one that tells Sam he had better stop teasing and start sucking. Sam’s not worried, holding all the power right now, taking his sweet time about getting Dean’s cock in his mouth. It’s just Dean’s alpha being grouchy, and why should he rush - they have all the time in the world, and Dean  _ certainly  _ doesn’t have the right to look that good after just waking up.

Sam is all too aware of the slick dripping just inches from his face, strongly inviting and yeah, he’ll get there, just like he always does. Dean gasps as Sam’s fingers brush his hole, already opened up to him. Enough of his own lube has run out of his ass that it’s coating the hair behind his balls, perfectly wet, killing Sam to not be buried to the hilt in him right now. He knows he’ll be rewarded by his own patience.

He’s got to make sure Dean is good and ready first. Can’t let him forget where he gets it from, no matter that they’re mated and bound up tighter than even normal pairs; there’s not much room for anyone else, and they want the world to know that.

The sound Dean makes when Sam finally swallows his dick is pure music, a slurred version of “Sammy” and long, low growl. Sam takes him all the way to the root, pausing for just a second to fit Dean’s knot in his mouth. He isn’t quite yet to the point of jaw-busting swollen - but he’s getting there. Precome runs down Sam’s throat, and he’s sweating so much again that his coveralls stick to his back anew.

“Your fuckin’ mouth, Sammy, so, so fuckin’ good.” Sam basks in that praise, already beyond pleased with himself. He gives Dean two fingers in his hole, fucking in and out, bobbing his head in conjunction. He finds Dean’s swollen prostate every time, making his brother, his  _ alpha  _ get louder on each thrust. He took Sam’s entire hand yesterday, helpless to stop himself coming and pissing all over the bed - that isn’t what Sam’s going for now. Later, maybe, but Sam is pretty fucking content right here, listening to Dean fall apart from his mouth and fingers.

Another long, keening moan from Dean, his cock swelling thicker and thicker in Sam’s mouth. Sam gasps, chokes, looks up at him. Dean’s covered in sweat, flushed deep pink all the way down to his chest, mouth parted when he isn’t chanting Sam’s name to the point of begging to come.  Sam will get him there, promises that he will, just wants to enjoy Dean’s body a little more. He gets a third finger inside Dean’s ass, barely any resistance as it slides in. Dean is so, so fucking greedy for it, trying his damndest to ride Sam’s hand, impossible because if he moves, he gets teeth where he doesn’t ever want them.

Sam doesn’t want to hurt him - just makes him come. He knows Dean is close, breeding his mouth so well that Sam isn’t likely to taste anything else for a few days. Catches Dean’s eyes, the tears leaking down Sam’s face so clear that it’s all Dean needs, groaning a loud, rough “Sammy” and he’s grabbing Sam’s head, pulling him flush with his body. Sam closes his eyes, locked together as Dean’s knot forces his jaw wide and he comes down his throat, pulse after pulse, fingers pulling so hard at Sam’s scalp that it stings. Dean begs,  _ please, Sammy, please,  _ growls, tries to fuck himself deeper into Sam’s mouth - only he has precisely nowhere to go, locked in tight.

Sam inhales deep through his nose, getting nothing but musk and hair and Dean, always Dean, backdropped by the aching pull of his own arousal. There’s a puddle of precome on the floor between his legs, his cock drooling so much that it looks like he’s pissed all over the fucking place. He finally gets a hand on himself, stroking and letting the high of all those pheromones sweep him along further .

“You like it, don’t you?’ Dean looks down at him, tracing his thumb over the corner of Sam’s spit-slicked mouth. “Like gettin’ your mouth bred and knotted.” Sam hums, strung high on Dean’s praise and cock. Wants to lick Dean’s fingers clean, can’t do a damn thing about it until his knot lets go - so he takes his fingers out of Dean’s gaping hole and tugs his balls, making Dean yelp. Christ, he’s ready to ruin him completely, can smell how ready Dean is for him, the way he tries to mask the whine at having nothing inside him.

God knows Sam is ready to be there. It’s already been too goddamn long since he felt the tight warmth of Dean’s body around him. Needs it just as badly as Dean does, if not fucking worse some days. The smell of Dean’s slick has him so fucking wired that it’s getting difficult to let Dean stay in his mouth, come still leaking down his throat. It’s just as much of a test of will for Sam as it is for Dean— both getting, and not getting, what they want.

But Dean looks awfully fucking happy, orgasm high and loose. He squeezes the base of his cock and pops his dick out of Sam’s mouth, dragging with it a whole fucking mess of spit and come that Sam didn’t quite manage to swallow. He knows damn well that he looks like some truck stop glory hole, and fuck, if Dean wanted that—to let Sam have  _ just  _ his cock—he’d be more than glad. He sucks in a couple of deep, lung-filling breaths, getting to his feet and shoving Dean down on the library table, making it scoot back a few inches when his weight hits it. Papers go flying , the thick tome of “the book” nearly joining them. Sam  pulls it back from going off the edge completely, Dean already grabbing at his shoulders to bring their mouths together.

“Wouldn’t want anyone else doing it, Dean.”

Dean growls, licking the salty remnants of himself from Sam’s mouth. “Goddamn right you wouldn’t.” He gets his fingers tangled in the sweaty mess of Sam’s hair, pulling it hard, greedy to get at as much of Sam’s mouth as possible. Sam lets him, gathering Dean close, sucking on his bottom lip, the colliding taste of them both pushing him to hurry the fuck up and fucking  _ knot  _ him already.

But Sam still isn’t quite ready.

He feels pretty fucking amazing, having made Dean lose it like that. He slides back down to his knees, ignoring Dean’s needy whine at having been denied further. He’ll get back to him - but he’s got something else in mind first.

“Spread ‘em, pretty boy.”

It will never fail to bring Sam joy at how quickly Dean responds when he growls those three little syllables at him. Doesn’t even have to use his alpha voice when he says them - Dean’s reaction is ingrained, knowing that when Sam drops that name on him, things are about to get a whole lot fucking better.

Dean whimpers prettily as anything, showing off his hole to Sam, He’s so wet that he’s soaked through the back of his robe, slick clinging to the terrycloth in great, damp spots. Sam shoves his face into the space between Dean’s heavy balls and hole, inhaling deeply. There’s so little of his body hair, naturally smooth and soft. The few times that Dean has licked Sam out he’s gotten nothing but grief about how he can’t fucking see anything for the hair - well, Sam can’t make the same argument to Dean.

He’s not going to gripe about it, since Dean’s already squirming, begging for Sam to lick his cunt out. Sam drags his tongue over his perineum, working his way down. There really isn’t a need for Sam to do this - Dean’s body opens up to him automatically, and half the time Sam just slides right on in.

He does it because Dean gets whorishly loud and down here, there’s no one to tell them to stop, bang on the wall because they’re making too much noise. Sam growls, chin already wet with slick. He scrapes his beard over the smoothness of Dean’s hole, growls against his skin when Dean tries to push himself even further down onto his mouth.

Dean stills, and Sam keeps going.

“Good boy,” Sam tells him, gives Dean’s ass a slow lick. “Cunt tastes so fuckin’ good, Dean, could spend all fuckin’ day down here.” Better than any omega, any girl that Sam’s had in the past - but that’s so far behind him that he doesn’t want to remember anything  _ but  _ Dean.

“Get so goddamn wet for me, alpha, that pretty pink cunt just begging for my dick.”

Dean hisses through clenched teeth, riled even further by Sam running his mouth. He’s talked Dean off plenty of times before, just the promise of getting his hole stuffed enough to get him there. It’s cruel, taking advantage when Dean’s in such a vulnerable state, but it’s too fucking hot to watch him fall apart just from words.

Sam shoves up his shoulders and drags Dean practically halfway off the table, as close as he can possibly get without actually being inside him. Starts off nice and slow, taking his time, tasting Dean’s never ending slick. He’s in heaven, tongue deep in his brother’s ass, the strong scent of alpha come still clinging to the air.

“Next time I’m riding your fucking face, Sam.” Dean hauls back harder on his knees, balanced almost entirely against Sam’s body. “Make my fucking slick drip down your goddamn neck. You’d love that, wouldn’t you, not being able to see or taste anything but my cunt.” Sam has to shove a hand down between his legs, squeezing his dick to stop himself coming. Dean’s being mouthy, which means he’s clearly not doing his job well enough  - if Dean’s talking, he’s thinking, and Sam doesn’t need anything from him but to feel right now.

He sucks on Dean’s balls again - hard - and Dean yelps, whimpers, then makes his own hole gape open, opened up further by Sam’s tongue. Sam lets go of his dick and rubs Dean’s hole, gathering up a mess of slick and spit to feed right back to Dean. Dean sucks his fingers clean, tongue swirling around Sam’s knuckles, just like he would if he was down on Sam.

How long Sam stays down there, breathing and tasting the heat, the wet of Dean’s body, he can’t say - but his beard is soaked, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Dean’s moaning, growling, begging, turning into a constant variation of  _ Sam, please, please fuck me alpha, fill me up with your fat goddamn cock, please, Sammy, I’ll be good, just fuck me -  _ Sam’s helpless against that.

“Fuck, Dean, you’re ready.” Sam gets up, knees asleep from being down on them for so long, blanketing Dean’s body with his own, licking into his mouth. Dean sucks on his tongue, moaning when he feels Sam’s cock bump against his hole, dripping precome all over the place, Sam lines up, holding Dean’s mouth captive, pushing in fast and it makes him white out, swallowed up in the tight, incredible heat of Dean’s body, absolute, complete heaven. 

Finally.

Dean’s legs go up instinctively, locking around Sam’s waist. He digs his fingers into Sam’s lower back, seating him fully, face buried in Sam’s neck. Sam plants his boots firmly on the floor and starts rocking his hips, mouth against Dean’s ear.

“Cunt feels so goddamn tight today, Dean.” Sam licks the shell of Dean’s ear, feels him shudder around his cock. “Swear you were made for me, made for takin’ my cock.” He fucks him a little faster, grinding his swelling knot deeper. “Fuckin’ love this, alpha.”

Dean’s hands slide up his back, fisted in the sweat-soaked fabric of his coveralls. “Need you, baby boy.” There’s just a hint of desperation, the need deeper than he’s letting on. He gets that, truly, both of them in a headspace these days where they  _ have  _ to be locked together as often as possible. These long, hot days of summer, the world doesn’t exist outside of their own space, and Sam loves every fucking second of it. Loves that Dean is his, nothing to claim or take his time but him.

Even when his knot is making Dean’s ass gape, Sam is still jealous for his attention. He fucks him harder, biting at Dean’s neck and throat, marking him up with bruises and teeth marks that will be healed up by tonight. Dean offers as much skin as he can, complete trust in Sam to not end him right there, still waiting for nature to do it for them in the back of his mind.

“Feel your fucking cock in my guts, Sam.” Dean clenches around him, catching Sam off guard. Sam growls, shoves Dean further up the table so that he’s got just one foot on the floor, the other on the edge. It completely changes the angle, proving Dean’s claim. He looks down and fuck,  _ fuck,  _ he can see it just moving, the expanse and contraction of Dean’s stomach as he fucks him hard and deep. He growls into Dean’s mouth, his own orgasm delayed so long that he’s chasing blindly, burning with need, blood hot enough to burn from the inside. 

“Dean, fuck, I’m gonna fucking  _ come. _ ” Sam can feel the tidal wave drawing back, ripping towards him in a rush that’s screamed past the point of no return. Right up from the soles of his feet, clinging to Dean, his knot  _ huge- _

Harder, harder, balls slapping against Dean’s ass, Dean’s head thrown back, right hand moving in a blur on his own cock, needing to be  _ right there  _ with Sam. He’s weeping precome, spurting out against Sam’s belly and that’s all it takes, Sam’s gone over the edge, knot completely swollen as he empties into Dean. Dean paints himself with come past his neck, spurts of white landing on the table, his chest, every fucking where, fucked hard right out of him. Sam can feel Dean’s ass milking him, draining his prostate dry, his entire body shaking.

Dean touches his forehead to Sam’s, panting as they come down slowly, knot-locked and utterly helpless for anything but each other. It’s a feeling of peace that comes over Sam, his heartbeat finally steadying, running his fingers through Dean’s hair and moving to nuzzle the side of his mouth.

“Wanna take a guess at how long it took me to fix the furnace?” He sounds  _ wrecked,  _ both by Dean’s knot forcing his jaw and screaming through his orgasm.

Dean chuckles, the vibration from his voice going right to Sam’s knot. “Not a little project, huh. C’mon Sam, that big brain of ours couldn’t get it sooner?”

“Yeah, because furnace repair is something I’ve logged  _ so  _ many hours in.” He lifts himself up, pulling Dean into one of the comfier chairs at the side of the table. “But it works, hopefully.”

“Good. You’re starting to stink like hell.” Dean takes a whiff of Sam’s neck and wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Yeah, you fucking reek.”

“And yet, here you are with my knot in your ass and looking smug. Doesn’t seem to worry you all that much.” It’s not exactly like Dean is coming up smelling of roses either. The nerve of him, bitching about  _ Sam  _ smelling.

“Wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t broken it in the first place, princess.”

Dean’s tone changes awfully fast when Sam knots him again thirty minutes later, gloriously hot water rushing over their bodies and washing away the last aches of wanting each other a little too hard.

And Sam is a  _ damned  _ fine furnace repairman, no matter what Dean says.


	2. Chapter 2

They’ve just gotten home after six hard, long weeks on the road, and Dean wants to go out.

Sam had just wanted to come home, have a slow, lazy fuck, and call it a night. After all the shit that’s been thrown at them lately, it really doesn’t seem to be a whole lot to ask for. Peace, quiet, and loading up Dean’s ass. That’s all Sam wants.

He’s still trying to figure out why he’s in front of the mirror, trimming up his beard and holding this increasingly uncomfortable stance so that his towel doesn’t fall down. It’s fucking cold in the bunker, so he wants to keep all the warmth about him that he can. Dean is still in the shower on the other side of the wall, singing and scrubbing himself to his heart’s content. Sam had gently rebuffed him when he tried to get handsy - not because he didn’t want it then, but because he had been far more concerned with scraping the collective fuckery of their last hunt off as fast as he could and get out. Maybe Dean will be in there long enough that he can have a couple of minutes to just lay down.

Satisfied that it’s as neat as he’s going to get it for now, Sam rubs his fingers in his beard oil and scrubs it through, the scent neutral enough that it doesn’t bother him. He keeps it smooth,  _ mostly  _ for his own sake - but he knows that Dean’s fingers will end up in it at some point tonight.

The alternative is to listen to him gripe about it being scratchy, and Sam isn’t about hearing that particular complaint tonight. Dean is in a good mood, in spite of their exhaustion, and Sam’s there with him. They’re home, mostly in one piece, and they have the whole day tomorrow to sleep or fuck, probably both.

Definitely both if the thought of it alone has Sam looking back at the showers so longingly. Maybe just a quickie before they go, no harm done, just enough to take the unsettled feeling off the edge of his nerves.

Knotting Dean right now would render them both useless, and Sam doesn’t want to spoil anything. How the hell sex could do  _ anything  _ to ruin the mood is beyond him to try and reason. Dean doesn’t exactly turn him down when he gives him the look, and alright, maybe Dean being handsy is something he could have capitalized on when he had the chance.

Not like Dean won’t be again - but Sam’s a little less weary than when they had walked in the door. He heads back to their room, towel even lower around his waist. He resists stopping and groping himself through the wet cotton, wondering how much longer Dean is going to spend beautifying himself. Sam isn’t going to ask him to cut it short, but he also really, really wants to scent his neck.

He’s gotten as far as pulling on a fresh pair of Saxx when Dean comes in, wolf-whistling when he catches Sam tucking his soft dick comfortably in place. Sam turns around, not at all ready for still dripping-wet Dean in just a low riding towel, his hair already styled, his own beard neat. Sam’s brain suddenly has a hard time processing anything beyond “Dean” and “hot.”

“Just missed those going up, didn’t I?” Dean approaches him, all fresh scrubbed musk and roaming eyes. He stops close enough to yank Sam towards him by the waistband, peering down his trunks, apparently very pleased with how Sam’s cock is cupped by the pouch. Sam can’t help but start to chub up, with Dean so close and inspecting him with so much… interest. Sam leans in, nuzzling Dean’s cheek (which is totally covered in  _ Sam’s  _ beard oil) and linking his hands together in the small of Dean’s back.

“Could have told me you wanted to watch. Not exactly a problem to ask.” Sam keeps hoping that Dean’s fingers will get closer, get his cock out - even if it’s just a quick stroke job, he’d be happy. It’s far more about Dean touching him, especially if it means his beard going, well  _ places.  _ Sam isn’t picky.

“Yeah.” Dean says, still looking down the front of Sam’s underwear. “You been waiting to get dressed this whole time?”

“Call me indecisive.” Sam catches Dean under the chin, running his fingers through the soft, dark blonde hair of his beard. “Who said you could use my stuff, by the way?” Not that it really bothers him all that much - but so long as Dean  _ thinks  _ it does…

“You just left it on the sink, Sammy, ‘s fair game.” Dean tries to go for a kiss, only for Sam to move his head out of the way. “Little jerk.”

“Big jerk.” Sam goes for his neck, inhaling, marveling at just how clean Dean smells, waiting to be messed up, marked with Sam’s come and mouth. He growls, low in his throat, and Dean offers his neck.

“Was kinda hoping that the mauling would come a little later than right now, Sammy - and I tried in the shower.” Good points, all of those, but Sam’s not really up for listening to reason right at the moment.

“You say mauling like it’s a bad thing.” Dean’s towel drops to the floor, Sam smells slick, and it’s goddamn bewitching, the musky-sweet way it fills the air. Sam wants to lick and lick and lick, make Dean tremble for him, beg until he can’t form words.

But that wouldn’t be fair to Dean right now, would it?

“‘S not - but I was hopin’ to do shots out of your mouth, and we don’t have any of the good stuff here. Can knot me up all you fuckin’ want later, baby boy, that’s a promise - but I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to go.” Dean finally grabs Sam’s face and hauls him in close enough to bite into his mouth, his beard scraping and tickling against Sam’s lips. When Dean spins it like that, Sam isn’t so opposed to heading to their favorite watering hole, one of just a few places they’ve found where doing shots out of each other’s mouths won’t make that many people stare or get pissed at them.

That and Dean has a crush on the bartender, and it’s really kind of adorable.

Dean snakes his tongue into Sam’s mouth and rubs his bulge - like Sam could  _ get  _ any harder right now. Dean has him on the edge of a tease, obviously, completely turned on, fucking Sam’s mouth. Sam’s a wreck for that, when Dean puts his hands and mouth on him like he fucking owns him - which isn’t terribly far from the truth. Sam cups Dean’s ass, fingers just at the cleft, and it would be so easy to wipe a finger through his slick, bring it to his mouth  - but that would guarantee them not leaving this room for the rest of the night.

Sam finally breaks them apart, and Dean whines as he pulls back without letting go of his bottom lip right away. “Who said I was done?”

“Thought we were goin’ out.” Sam moves his hands to the far safer territory of Dean’s hips, pulled nearly flush with his own. Dean’s hard too, pressed against Sam’s covered crotch and belly, precome smeared in his treasure trail. He’s intoxicating, and Sam’s alpha is  _ crying  _ for him to devour.

Not yet, buddy - but we will.

“We are, but Christ, Sammy, your goddamn  _ mouth. _ ” Dean hooks his left thumb in the corner of Sam’s mouth and Sam sucks without having to be told, watches Dean’s eyes get wider when he swirls his tongue. Clean skin, wrinkled from the hot water. He kind of wants Dean to shove the rest of his fingers in his mouth, stake a claim that he doesn’t really have to - he knows what the end result would be if he did.

Dean takes his thumb away and replaces it with his tongue again, forceful like he’s trying to put his entire being in Sam’s, winding himself up so much that Sam is almost sure he  _ will  _ have to do something about it before they go.

How they manage to tear away from each other isn’t for Sam to try and comprehend, but his underwear are soaked with precome by the time they stop, his cock hard enough he can feel his heartbeat in it. Dean’s a mess, slick wetting his crack, toes curling, wound up to the breaking point - and yet, they dress without tackling each other to the bed. Dean opts for a t-shirt that shows off in no uncertain way that yeah, his tits are  _ very  _ perky and pierced. Sam’s going to have a difficult enough time keeping his hands to himself, and Dean is going out in well-fitted…  _ everything. _

Sam counters with a flannel that he can’t seem to bother buttoning the top third of and he’s not wearing deodorant either - they’re ready for mutually assured destruction, a game that they’ve both gotten to be exceptionally good at playing. How the hell the same things still work like magic, even after all this time, Sam will never know.

He’s just glad that Dean gets as hot for it as he does.

Dean hasn’t stopped leering at him, putting his boots on, and Sam pretends not to see him snap a picture with his phone. He actually does it a lot, whenever he thinks Sam’s look is worth saving in that moment. He doesn’t stop him - but a lot of photos end up in the cloud that Sam set up for them. Surprisingly, very few of them are of Sam completely naked - he gets plenty of those from Sam himself.

Sam isn’t so humble that he can’t appreciate the work that he puts in on his body, both for himself  _ and  _ for Dean.

“Ready?” Sam stands, ties back his hair, satisfied that the flush of arousal is no longer coloring his cheeks. Dean leans over, grabs his collar off the nightstand, and hands it to Sam.

“Almost.”

Sam puts it on around Dean’s neck, clasping it carefully at the back. Dean gasps quietly when Sam mouths “I love you” into the shell of his right ear, less from the startle of Sam’s breath on him than the words right against his skin. His shoulders relax, settled, easy - Sam can say it however many times Dean needs to hear it. It probably  _ should  _ be verbalized a whole hell of a lot more than it is between them.

He doesn’t need to hear it back. The collar on his neck is as good as a ring on his finger or a possessive hand on his ass. He knows that Dean does, beyond a doubt. He’ll prove it later, when he’s on Sam’s knot and his legs are closed tight around his waist.

When they pull up to the front of Home Range, there aren’t that many spots left open. Typical Saturday, as it’s one of the only watering holes on this end of Smith County. Sam can smell the booze and sweat even walking up to the door, the blood warm press of a hundred bodies loosening up as the liquor flows.

Right before they enter, Dean links his fingers with Sam’s and pulls him, leaning in to put his mouth next to Sam’s ear. “Wanna give ‘em a show?” There’s a good mix in here tonight, alphas, omegas, betas - Sam isn’t picking up on any sort of aggression in the air, so yeah, he’s game. Dean’s an exhibitionistic little fuck, but he’s  _ Sam’s. _

“What makes you think I’d say no?” He squeezes Dean’s fingers back and they find a place at the end of the bar, just enough for the two of them to fit - almost.

Kelsey finally notices them, grinning from ear to ear. Doris Day blonde, three times as cute, and able to run her bar with the coolness of a polar bear - and just as fierce if necessary. “You boys finally decided to drop in? What, not good enough for you anymore?” Without even asking, she uncaps two El Sols and places them right in their hands, kissing Dean on the cheek when he offers it - his blush is nearly as red as her lipstick.

Alright, so watching Dean get rattled is worth the price of admission. Sam hangs back, lets them catch up, sipping his beer. He catches the eyes of a few of the other patrons, nodding in greeting or baring teeth when they stare at Dean’s ass for too long.

Did they not see the two of them come in together? God, Dean has Sam’s musk all over him, just as he always does. Maybe it’s just because he had such a strong taste of him earlier, but Sam feels more possessive than normal tonight - Kelsey notwithstanding. He won’t even begin to see her as competition.

“And Sam here - Sam took the guy down, one shot, right between the eyes. Best fuckin’ shot I’ve ever seen.” Dean’s hand lands on Sam’s shoulder, drawing Sam back into the conversation that he had been only half listening to. He turns back to face the bar, eying the empty shot glass in front of Dean.

“He’s just bragging because he’s the one responsible for all that expert marksmanship.” Sam finishes off his beer, motioning for a shot. Kelsey passes him one, tequila, lime already sliced. Sam salts his hand, licks, knocks back the shot, and puts the lime to his mouth, sucking down the juice just as the liquor starts to push heat through his gut. He licks the last of the salt from his hand, and grins at Dean’s downright  _ smitten  _ face.

“Another, please.” It isn’t even about getting drunk - he just wants Dean to keep looking at him like that, as though he’s never seen Sam do this before. Kelsey hands them off, they lick, they drink, and right as Dean is sucking the juice from his lime, Sam swoops in and plucks it out of his mouth with his teeth, letting Dean watch as he flips it around with his tongue to the meat side.

“Think he took your lime, Dean. You train him to do that too?” Kelsey hasn’t been clued in that they’re brothers, which is mostly why they’re allowed to get away with this shit here. The whole two alphas things stopped being fascinating at this bar a while ago - God bless it having a regular crowd.

“Nah, that… that’s all Sam.” Dean’s hand is at his crotch, adjusting himself as discreetly as possible. Good. Sam shrugs, absolutely nothing to it, accepting a drink of water. His lips are still tingling from brushing Dean’s,  stoking the fire right back up, letting himself be turned on for him, for Dean. Dean has that wide-eyed look, and even Kelsey has to re-center herself.

Yeah, they’ll give a show alright. Sam’s inhibitions are loose enough that he doesn’t care so much that they just drew a bunch of eyes - if they want to be jealous, so be it. Let it fall on both of them, the intensity of their relationship. How much they do for each other, what no one else on earth can. 

Dean passes Sam another shot, licking his lips. “Don’t steal my lime this time.”

Sam doesn’t, and he waits a split second before downing his own. Wants to watch the swell of Dean’s throat under his collar as he swallows, the pink flush of his skin at the dip of his neck as it spreads through his system. Fuck, Sam could get drunk just watching Dean, would never have to touch another drop of liquor again.

There’s a pull in his crotch as Dean closes his eyes and sucks his lime dry, the juice leaking out the corner of his mouth and into his beard. Too fucking tempting - so Sam leans forward and licks Dean’s face, close enough to get blasted by his body heat. Sweat starts to drip down Sam’s back and neck, Dean’s proximity driving him  _ crazy. _

“How you feelin?” Dean asks after a few more shots between them, as he downs the rest of his water, swaying a little. He’s rosy-cheeked under his beard, smelling all sorts of attractive, vulnerable - things that are making Sam’s alpha pace restlessly. He needs to act, needs to do… something. Soon.

“Pretty fuckin’ good.” Sam’s ready for another shot - like he isn’t already starting to feel it. The overlay of booze nearly - but not quite - masks the open arousal he’s picking up from Dean. He isn’t “stuff my hole” horny yet, but his body language is screaming for the touch of Sam’s hands, his mouth, whatever. That salty taste of Dean’s skin when he licked him has Sam asking,  _ panting _ for more.

Kelsey comes back with two more shots, and Sam doesn’t lift the glass to his own lips - he feeds it to Dean, burns at terminal velocity as Dean licks the salt from his hand, that filthy, hot pink tongue making Sam want to howl with want. Dean fully exposes his throat, the edge of a hickey peeking out from under the left side of his collar. 

“You two are gonna have to get up on stage if you decide to show off any further.” Kelsey’s trying to keep her cool but hell, even she’s turned on watching them. Sam can smell the wet in her panties, competing with the musk of Dean. He takes the lime, puts it in between his lips - Dean’s mouth and jaw open solely from the pressure Sam so gently applies with his fingertips. That’s enough to make Sam want to haul his cock out then and there, right at the bar, and fuck Dean completely senseless.

“If you keep up this little sub act, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you’re wanting more than just a drink.” Sam runs his fingers around the edge of Dean’s lips, his beard soft-rough, eyes glassy, dark, leaning in when Sam’s palm cups his cheek. He still has a shot to drink - but Dean looks so fucking beautiful right now, lust settling on his skin like the sweat that’s broken out over his face.

“Who says it’s an act, Sammy?” Dean offers his hand, already salted, tips the shot back into Sam’s mouth. He swallows slowly, savoring the burn once again, and the second it’s down his throat, Dean’s closed in and is licking his way past Sam’s lips.

Dean puts his hand on Sam’s chest, fingers creeping under the collar, dragging through his hair. Sam pushes him back up against the bar, concern for anyone telling them to stop completely gone. Dean’s tongue curls with his, pulling him in,  _ yes, alpha, I’m yours if you want it. _

Sam wants it so fucking badly that it’s a sharp ache in his chest, his alpha clawing, growling, whining for Dean’s body. He’s drunk, Sam knows, but it’s not like Sam isn’t that far behind. The lust, the jealousy in the room is like a fog, and Sam knows damn well that they’ve gotten more than a few omegas wet and needy - but none of them smell  _ anywhere  _ near as good as Dean.

“We aren’t done yet, Sammy.” Dean pulls away, wobbly as he takes a step. They need to sit down, both of them. “Not even close.”

Sam growls, biting at Dean’s throat. Makes Dean’s ass so wet so fast that the scent makes Sam’s head spin like he’s just had four more shots. “Find us a seat.”

Kelsey hands them two more glasses of water, watches them hang all over each other until they find an empty booth. Sam gets in first and Dean follows, collapsing into him with a weight that signals loud and clear just how tanked he is right now. Sam turns so that Dean’s body rests against his own, head back against his shoulder. 

“Menace,” he grumbles. “‘S not fair, lookin’ the way you do, your tits out and…” Dean sighs, belches, groans. “Ought to put you up on that fuckin’ bar and drink if off you.”

The last thing they need is skin exposure, guaranteed route number one right now to Dean getting the life knotted out of him. Sam tightens his grip around Dean’s body, thumb brushing against his left nipple. The way Dean wriggles when he does it makes it twenty times harder to say not to Dean’s not so idle threat.

“Don’t think we need an audience for that.”

Sam doesn’t possess the necessary coordination at the moment to even  _ make  _ that look good, much less be able to keep his hand and mouth away from places they shouldn’t be. Kelsey would kill them anyway - but the raw want coming off of Dean right now is bad enough that Sam really,  _ really  _ wants to give in.

They just have to be smart about it.

Sam isn’t so far gone that he’s completely lost his common sense. He nuzzles at Dean’s hair, the scent of his own shampoo coming back to him. Little shit stole some again - but he still smells like Sam, so he isn’t  _ that  _ irritated. “Not gonna get my tits out for everyone to see, you jerk.”

“Cause they already are.” Dean sits up and turns around to face him, sneaking a hand inside Sam’s open collar. Sam’s dick twitches when he brushes his nipple, way too hard for it to be an accident. Sam lets him grope, plan forming in fits and starts through his drink-addled haze. Dean keeps licking his lips, dry from the limes that they’ve been sucking on as much as unbridled lust.

Sam grabs Dean’s wrist, mouths “follow me” against that sinfully pretty mouth. Sitting down for a minute has helped with his stability - even if it wasn’t for all that much time. He’s kicking himself for forgetting how hard tequila fucks him up. Neither he nor Dean touch the stuff that often - but it’s the bed they’ve made for themselves.

Sidled back up to the bar (on the opposite side this time) Kelsey eyes them, wiping a glass. “The only way that the two of you are getting any more shots is if they’re fed to you, and I’m almost out of tequila. So what’s it gonna be?”

Dean leans forward, his smile boozy and wide. “Sammy said he’d flash you if… if you gave us another one.”

Sam rolls his eyes, tempted to pinch Dean for lying. “That’s fair, Kels. Dean first.”

They’re already going to have a hard enough time getting home - one more shot each, then it’s back to beer for the both of them.

Kelsey empties the last of the bottle, holding it to Dean's lips. Sam watches him chase the shot, desperate for that last drop of it. She's careful not to touch his mouth as it gets drained, and alright, Sam's hot for it, watching Dean lean back and lick the last of it up from his lips, eyes closed tight. The vapors are strong enough that they sear the inside of Sam's nose when he leans in, whispering "my turn" right into Dean's ear.

            Time to put this half-assed plan into motion.

H e holds Kelsey's wrist steady, more for his own sake than hers. No salt, no lime - he doesn't think he could taste them right now anyway. He doesn't swallow all of it - just enough to keep from spilling.

The second he's emptied the glass, Sam turns to Dean, cups his face, and feeds the remainder of the shot to him. He chases with his tongue, pulling their bodies flush just as Dean's got all of it down. Sam isn't tired anymore—horny, buzzed, and wanting hardly anything more than maximum skin contact with Dean.

Dean moans, and it's no accident. He's wet, needy, his fingers pulled tight in Sam's belt-loops. They're the center of attention, that's no doubt now, and even the loose, liberal atmosphere of Home Range isn't going to stand for two drunk, horny alphas mauling each other. Sam's hard enough that anyone who spends longer than two seconds looking at his crotch is going to know where Dean has put him.

Doing this in public—this long, elaborate game of getting each other ready to be fucked, it hasn't lost its edge or satisfaction. Sam likes it when people know that he's about to make an utter wreck of Dean. Make them all the more jealous that they can't have him. They've certainly staked their claim on each other tonight.

"Ain't a lime, but I'd suck the juice out of you anyway." Dean winks, immensely pleased with himself. Sam laughs, gloating inwardly that he's the one who gets to go home with him, always.

That hasn't tarnished either, the knowledge of being only unto each other. "Don't make promises you aren't sober enough to keep." That liquor warm mouth around his knot sounds really fucking good right now - but only if Dean's an equal participant in the venture.

Dean tilts his head in the general direction of the door, his fingers having moved to right above Sam's belt buckle. "Man of my word, Sammy, that's me." He tosses Kelsey a look, part thanks for letting them act completely inappropriate, part promise that he'll be back to pay once he's had his filthy way with Sam - and sobered up.

So far as Sam can tell, the situation has been taken out of his hands, never mind that he’s the one who’s going to likely be receiving. Putty in Dean’s hands, always. They make their way through the crowd of bodies, some far more drunk than others, all of them watching the two of them. Sam bares his teeth when he has to, just to get people out of their way faster. Dean is throwing off pheromones so hard that Sam would rip throats out with no hesitation, just to get them out of here faster.

Dean wouldn’t even try to stop him, Sam’s sure of it.

Walking out into the night brings with it sobering coolness, the sweat on Sam’s back and forehead losing temperature so fast that it makes him shiver. Dean presses against the small of his back urging him forward to what Sam hopes is the general direction of the Impala. Neither one of them is an any sort of shape to drive, even the short distance back to the bunker. Sam isn’t really all that willing to try and play “Amazing Grace” on a Smith County sheriff deputy’s breathalyzer, either.

“Sammy, wait, I… just wait.” Dean’s leaning against a truck, left hand against the door. He’s fumbling with his zipper, and with precious little success. Sam gets behind him, one arm around his body as he gets Dean’s fly undone. His cock is already thickening when Sam gets him out, pointing him as squarely at the ground as he can.

Dean shifts, suddenly gunshy. “This didn’t happen.” God, like Sam is going to shame him for needing a little help in not pissing himself.

“Course not.”

It’s a marvel, one that Sam has to hide his laughter at by biting his tongue. Dean actually gets hard as he pisses, moaning like Sam has just slid into him knot-deep. Christ, like Sam can get any more turned on right now. It’s a struggle to keep Dean aimed properly, boned up like he is, but Sam succeeds until he’s wiped the end of Dean’s cock off with his fingers.

Where his foreskin had been covering the head of his cock - he’s just as wet with precome as Sam is right now. Sam brings his fingers up to Dean’s lips, groaning as the tip of his tongue licks them clean. He needs to get them moving again, that they haven’t been caught is only down to luck. He doesn’t want to let go, enjoying far too much the girthy weight of Dean’s cock in his hand.

“Sammy, c’mon don’t wanna flash anyone. Kinda packed it in for you a while ago.” Dean tilts his head back and finds Sam’s mouth, thrusting into Sam’s hand as he moans. Sam presses against his backside, seeking heat, skin - whatever’s available first. Yeah they have to move - and fast.

Sam ends up leading him by the dick to the Impala, not at all ready to let go of Dean. He gets the keys out, Sam once again behind him. He can’t wait much longer, Dean’s scent hooked in his nose. Can’t really be helped when he leans over and bites at his ear, Dean moaning pressing back against him.

“You realize I’m not exactly turning you down here, but you don’t have to grease me any further.” There’s something astoundingly close to a purr in Dean’s voice, a drawl of sorts that makes Sam want to lick the air around him.

Sam chuckles, giving Dean’s cock another tug, kissing the back of his head when the door is open. “You know I like you extra wet, alpha.”

Dean growls back at him, dropping the front bench seat back and giving them a lot more room to work with. Sam isn’t sure of what exactly he’s got in mind - right now he’s perfectly fine with a whole lot more skin contact.

Sam gets shoved in first, jammed up against the back seat with a rush of air as Dean comes down on top of him, boots pressed against dashboard. There’s barely any light spilling through the windows, out here on the dark edge of the parking lot.

“Want your fuckin’ cock in my mouth.” Dean pants against his lips, fingers working at what few buttons Sam has left done up. “Fuck, Sammy, need to fuckin’ taste you.” Crashes back into Sam, his left hand holding the back of Sam’s head, fingers tight, secure. Sam opens his mouth wide, swallowing Dean’s tongue, arching into Dean’s body. He wants out of his jeans so fucking badly - he had a long time ago.

Sam finally reaches down to help him, the kiss they’re sharing just barely hanging on. “Could have said so sooner, Dean.” He groans with relief, freed of his jeans, surprising himself at just how strong his musk is. Dean bites his bottom lip, hands running greedily, possessive over Sam’s body.

“Maybe so - but that thing with that last shot? Goddammit, Sam, nearly lost it right there from how fuckin’ hot that was.” Dean licks his collarbone, mouth lighting fires all along Sam’s sweating skin. Dean just makes it even worse, pressed so close that Sam’s intensely aware of how near they are to sticking together, losing the start and finish of each other.

Sam’s legs spread without hesitation when Dean’s mouth sucks a mark into his treasure trail, right through the scent-heavy hair. “Couldn’t help myself, Dean.”

He’s quickly running out of energy to do anything further than moan and fuck Dean’s kiss-bitten, wickedly hot lips.

Dean pulls his jeans almost all the way down, growling like they have done some great, deeply personal offense. Sam holds his breath, feels his balls touch the skin-warmed leather of the seat under him.

“Just… so goddamn huge Sammy, fuck.” Dean pulls his cock so that he’s pointed towards the roof, stroking him so that his precome beads up, smears over his head, lost in the close hold of Dean’s fingers. Sam grabs his shaft, feeding himself right into Dean’s mouth, the last gasp of space between them disappearing, eye contact holding right up until Dean swallows him halfway down, moving Sam’s hand out of the way.

This definitely isn’t Sam’s show right now, even if he is the one aching so badly for it that his skin is about to melt. Not like it’s the first time that Dean has stolen the reins from him without cluing Sam in.

Dean opens wider, lips bumping against Sam’s swelling knot, making Sam moan with long-edged relief. It’s a compulsion, one that Sam is always more than happy to indulge. Dean needs to suck his cock just as badly as Sam needs to be sucked. He could charge half a grand a pop, nuts drained and satisfaction guaranteed. Dean is enough of a pig to probably get off on that idea  - one that Sam probably entertains far more often than he should. Picturing someone else in Dean’s mouth makes Sam’s vision turn red with jealousy, covetous and possessive of all that has to a fault. With a bone-rattling growl, he puts his right hand on the back of Dean’s head and forces him the rest of the way down.

“You like that, Dean? Like taking my fat alpha cock?” Sam holds Dean’s head in place, starts to pump in and out, Dean not missing a fucking beat. “Finally measured for you, Dean. Ten goddamn inches, every one of ‘em for you.” Dean moans around him, whorey, full, satisfied - “think about it, Dean, think about every inch breeding your ass.”

Fuck, Sam’s talked himself closer. He fucks Dean’s mouth, taking back control, knowing damn well that their combined scent is carrying on the wind. He couldn’t care less, concerned only with pumping his load down Dean’s throat. Nothing else matters, beyond claiming Dean yet again.

The drunken haze at the edge of his vision starts to clear, and the sharp, hot sensation of his orgasm cuts deeper and deeper across his consciousness. He has Dean wetter than he’s been in the last week, ready to climb on and take him - but Sam isn’t going anywhere, not with Dean’s mouth around his knot and his body screaming for release.

Dean arches up, head still down - he shoves three fingers right into Sam’s mouth, covered in sweet-scented slick. How the fuck Sam missed that, he won’t stop to wonder. He sucks Dean’s fingers clean, swirls his tongue around each knuckle, pulling the taste of Dean’s body deeper - and he blows, blood singing in his veins, Dean’s mouth and throat loaded and coated.

“ _ Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”  _ Sam’s toes curl inside his boots, back arching - and Dean doesn’t spill a drop. Keeps his mouth sealed even as Sam’s knot swells to its fullest extent, forcing his jaw wide until he finally has to pull back.

Dean settles on his haunches, licking his lips, showy as he pleased to be about it - nothing can ever,  _ ever  _ take away from the look of Dean’s mouth freshly knotted, and even in the poor lighting of the distant moon and parking lot lights, he can see the raw, copious drip of Dean’s spit across his chin.

Sam should probably pull him up off the ground before someone comes and does it for him, Dean takes his hand, dazed, as drunk on Sam’s come as the tequila that they had been pouring into each other’s mouths. Dean angles for a kiss and Sam gives it to him, moaning when Dean gets his fingers around his shaft and squeezes out the last few drops. He can go again, as much as Dean needs him to - but the urge to quiet his alpha, to reciprocate, that’s far more pressing then bending Dean over and shoving his cock inside.

“On your fuckin back, Sam.” Dean shoves him, and Sam goes down easy, dick still hard. Dean surges forward, and Sam’s feet end up hanging out the open door. Sam sucks, bites his bottom lip, makes the scent of Dean’s arousal grow headier, heavier, all the oxygen replaced by musk and sweat. He needs to get Dean closer, get his cock in his hand or mouth, give him what he needs. They’ve been too goddamn big to do this for a long time now, even with the seat down.

Sam’s pretty fucking determined to make this work. All he has to do is get Dean an orgasm, then he’ll be ready to give him anything,  _ everything. _

Dean pulls off, his fingers running through Sam’s hair. “Know we need to get this show on the road, Sammy.” Slides further up Sam’s body, jeans  still open pulled down as best as he can get them. His cock is throbbing hard, foreskin pulled all the way back, his whole length flushed so dark that Sam’s not sure how he hasn’t passed out from blood loss by now. Sam’s bracing to get face fucked, just the same as he did to Dean - that’s  a tough one, considering how they’re positioned.

Sam moans, Dean’s fingers pulling at his nipples, eyes locked on the sweat making his chest hair stick. “Do you have  _ any  _ idea how hard it is to not constantly stare at these, Sammy?” Dean tugs his nipples again, spreads his fingers and squeezes, great big handfuls of Sam’s pecs. “Fuckin’ hell, what a goddamn perfect rack, baby boy.” He acts like he’s never seen them before, drunken fixation making Sam wish he’d hurry the fuck up and just  _ do  _ something about it.

“Can feel ‘em up anytime you want, Dean.” Fuck, when would he ever deny that to Dean? Sam’s chest is pretty much hard-wired to the rest of him - and he’s not even pierced like Dean is. It’s a smug sort of satisfaction that any time he’s in a crowded bar or diner, full of  _ plenty  _ of gorgeous tits, it’s still his cleavage that Dean is going to pretend to not be sneaking constant glances at.

Dean scoots forward, bent low over Sam, settled on Sam’s belly. Slicks drips everywhere, the car filled with its scent, more than enough to drive Sam absolutely wild. Dean has his right hand around his cock, the left against the window to support himself. He’s starting at Sam’s face, his chest, torn between which one he wants to focus more.

“Shove your fuckin’ tits together, baby boy.” Dean lciks his fingers, rubs his hole to gather slick. Sam’s breath catches when he smears it right down the middle of his chest, slick coating the narrow valley that he’s made with his hands. Dean pushes his cock between his pecs, sweat dripping from his face and adding to the slide, sticky and hot and  _ glorious. _

Sam had no idea. If he had known about this, he could have let Dean fuck his chest, much, much sooner. The constant touches, the comments about his chest, the way he always seems to be around to watch when Sam strips down - it’s a culmination. Sam tips his head back, hands pushing harder, making the groove tighter.

Handing the keys back over like this, to let Dean make such hard, deliberate use of his body - it feels  _ incredible. _

“Fuckin’ dirty of you, Dean, wantin’ to fuck your little brother’s tits like this.” The urgenet, needy look comes back to Dean’s eyes, and Sam keeps going. “Can’t help it, can you? Just have to have me every way, fuck me up until you can’t stand anyone else even  _ looking. _ ” 

Fuck, yeah,  _ that  _ does it.

Dean growls, loudly, and Sam licks his lips, slow like. Dean’s cock is a hot, heavy motion, sliding back and forth, fucking and fucking the tight groove, catching on Sam’s chest hair. He’s covered in precome, slick, sweat, coated all the way to Sam’s throat. Dean’s control finally slips, unable to stand holding back any longer - comes bursts all over Sam’s face, his chest, his throat, forcing him to close his eyes and open his mouth further to catch it, wanting every part of him to belong to Dean in that moment. His mate, his alpha, his whole fucking  _ world. _

It takes a long time for Dean to be completely empty, and Sam feels like there’s not an inch of him that isn’t soaked in Dean.

“Never will get over how fuckin’ good you look covered in spunk, Sammy.” Dean runs his fingers through Sam’s white-coated beard, scooping up come, feeding it to him finger by finger. “Christ, the shit you let me get away with.”

Sam opens his eyes, smut at the mess and sated tone in Dean’s voice. “Cause I want to, Dean.” So far there hasn’t been a lot that Sam has said no to outright. Why the hell Dean thinks he would - it’s a mystery. “Really think we ought to at least close the door now.”

“Fuck ‘em - they know who this ass belongs to.” It’s a really, really nice ass - but Sam thinks that maybe this ought to stay a  _ little  _ private.

“What if I want to make sure of that for myself?” Sam’s lying here, covered in come and Dean, still half drunk - and he already wants to have him again.

“Then I think you ought to go settle up with Kelsey. We’ve got work to do.”

If pounding Dean’s ass stupid is work, then Sam is the happiest laborer that’s ever lived.

But Dean  _ might  _ have mentioned something about the come in his eyebrows when he eventually makes it inside to pay.

He’s right, though - there’s only one person that they belong to, and that’s never, ever going to make Sam stop smiling.


End file.
